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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149416">honey and sweet figs</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairydustskies/pseuds/fairydustskies'>fairydustskies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>band-aids for sentimental thoughts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I love them so much you don't understand, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, just so sweet, this is my attempt at healing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:06:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>774</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29149416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairydustskies/pseuds/fairydustskies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One lazy morning at Achilles and Patroclus' house.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>band-aids for sentimental thoughts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>honey and sweet figs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is mostly a self-indulgent fic if i'm being honest. i just needed a way to deal with the aftermath of having read the song of achilles for the first time so enjoy some domestic fluff &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The morning was as sweet as a kiss, sun glowering on the wooden flooring as the pan sizzled against the stove’s raging flames.<br/>
The smell of bacon and eggs wafted like mist through the house, bringing along with it the soft pattering of slippers. Achilles smiled to himself as the noise neared, a soft expression he saved for one person only. </p><p>“Good morning, Patroclus.”<br/>
Achilles’ voice travelled to the brown-haired man’s groggy figure, earning a sleepy mumble in response. Taking him gently by the forearm, Achilles planted a chaste kiss on Patroclus’ head, the curls tickling against his skin. When he released the half-awake man, Patroclus hooked his chin on the blond’s shoulder, humming happily at the smell of the bacon and eggs sizzling. </p><p>“You always know how to make me happy,” said Patroclus, burying his face in the blond’s neck, earning a laugh from Achilles.<br/>
Achilles served them both, adding a few extra pieces of bacon to Patroclus’ plate, giving the excuse that Patroclus looked way too skinny when the brunet questioningly quirked his eyebrow. Truth was, Achilles liked seeing Patroclus eat. There was something awfully charming in how his lips would twitch slightly when he ate something he liked, as if trying to hide a smile and how his dimples would protrude like small verifications of Patroclus’ satisfaction. Through sneaked glances, Achilles prided himself in his frying skills every time Patroclus’ lips quirked slightly. </p><p> </p><p>The rattling of silverware echoed as the pair cleaned up, Patroclus washing, Achilles drying. </p><p>“Do you ever wonder…” started Patroclus, voice pensive. His hold on the plate was nearly a ghost, soap-sud studded fingers almost lost in repetition. “What might’ve happened if we never met?” </p><p>Achilles hadn’t thought of such a thing. It didn’t even seem like an option but, looking back, their meeting seemed to be awfully coincidental, as many meetings are. Patroclus, small and tanned heavily by the sun, hair matted and fingers worn and cracked as if scrubbed dry, paying no mind to Achilles, the treasured son and heir of a world-renowned estate. Yet, it was under the fig trees that the two became friends. </p><p>“What’cha reading?”<br/>
Achilles had been small, no older than ten, hanging upside down from the branch of a fig tree, long blond hair fluttering in the warm breeze. Patroclus had jumped from where he sat underneath the tree, the leaves offering shade from the smoldering sun. His hair had been overgrown from lack of care, skin a mahogany brown, the scabs on his fingers healing.<br/>
In a small voice, he had replied: “the Iliad.” </p><p>“My father told me that story!” Achilles had exclaimed, swinging from the branches to the soil. He had made a heroic pose, head raised triumphantly. “One day, I’m going to be just like the hero! Just watch and see!”<br/>
That day, they had picked ripe figs from the tree and dipped them in a jar of honey Achilles had robbed from the kitchen earlier that morning. They, mostly Achilles, had told tall tales, laughed at the obvious lies and stared at the whooshing waves until dusk.</p><p>Achilles smiled at the memory and looked at Patroclus, mahogany skin ever-so-stunning, hair as beautiful as a god’s, fingers free of the nightmares hidden beneath the faded scars, face hit gently by the sun’s golden kiss. </p><p>Achilles put down the rag. Patroclus looked questioningly at him but Achilles merely smiled, grabbed a jar of honey from a kitchen cabinet and offered a hand to Patroclus. The brunet took it. </p><p> </p><p>Outside, the wind was bellowing soft lullabies, the leaves rustling happily. They sat under the fig tree, Achilles picked a handful, tossing two to Patroclus. The jar of honey popped open and the blond dunked a tip of his fig inside, the juice erupting when he bit down and sticking to his skin, earning a fond laugh from his observer. He tilted the jar towards Patroclus, who did the same. </p><p>“I’ve never wondered about what might’ve happened if we had never met,” Achilles admitted. His head tilted back to rest on the tree bark, the sky a clear blue above him. He reached for Patroclus, sticky fingers intertwining. Almost automatically, Patroclus’ head fell on Achilles’ shoulder. Achilles knew of the nightmares that used to plague his lover, overwhelming doubts knotting into false perceptions of reality. He knew of what had once resided within the scars on Patroclus’ cracked fingertips. He knew and yet it made Achilles ache for Patroclus more, it was something that maybe would only mend and never completely fade but it was Patroclus, through and through, and Achilles couldn’t ask for anything more. “We’re here now, aren’t we?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed reading! i know this is really short but i still would love to hear your thoughts on it! comments rlly make my day &lt;3 have a wonderful day/night !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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